


Fading Embers

by spaceliquid



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst, Dealing with Death and Rebirth, Forced Genital Alterations, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Ed for Crazy Warlords, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceliquid/pseuds/spaceliquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galvatron remembers what one of the doctors on Torkulon told him.<br/><em>"You have no right to change what I am!"</em><br/><em>"You've already been changed; that's the problem."</em></p><p>But while Galvatron was changed, Optimus Prime was reborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Embers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zuzeca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/gifts).



> *coughs* Dear Zuzeca! Happy birthday to you! I hope this bit of angsty porn manages to bring you some joy. uwu
> 
> So Zuzeca and I were talking about Season 3 of G1 cartoon, and I mentioned a fact that had always caught my attention: that Galvatron acted strangely sane, polite and almost nice with two mechs: Soundwave and Optimus Prime. I came up with a headcanon that explained it, and Zuzeca prompted me to write a fic based on it. So here it is.

Galvatron is insane.

Everybody knows this, and on some level Galvatron is aware of it as well. He remembers what one of the doctors on Torkulon told him.

_"You have no right to change what I am!"_

_"You've already been changed; that's the problem."_

He knows he was changed; he has memories to prove it – millions of years of experience, thousands of battles fought and thousands of foes extinguished. Those memories might be useful, but Galvatron prefers to keep them archived in the depths of his processor. He doesn’t like those memories; they belong to the Other One.

Mighty Galvatron doesn’t need a dead mech’s memories to rule his empire!

Galvatron is the only one and true Lord of the Decepticons.

But no matter how much he claims that he’s his own person, he can’t escape the Other One’s shadow. Galvatron might be insane, but he’s not deaf. He hears the whispers in the dark passageways of his base, faint murmurs behind his back:

_“In the days of Megatron it was not like this.”_

_“If Megatron still lead us, we wouldn’t have to live on this forsaken rock, fighting over scraps.”_

_“Megatron would never shoot at his own soldiers with no reason.”_

They fall on Galvatron’s volatile spark like oil on fire, and dutiful Cyclonus is always there to remind those ungrateful fools who their rightful leader is. He forbids speaking the Other One’s name, but Decepticons were never known for obedience.

All of them are out to get him. Nobody is trustworthy. Galvatron must always be alert, must never forget he’s surrounded by enemies and traitors, they all are ready to dismantle him, to get into his head and subdue him like Unicron did, Unicron who created him to be the Chaos Bringer’s servant, his possession, no, Galvatron won’t allow this! So he rages and curses and fires his cannon, finding oblivion in the shroud of hate and fear.

Yet there are rifts in that shroud, strange moments of clarity that Galvatron comes to notice. When in his fury he aims his weapon at Soundwave, something stops him from pulling the trigger – not an emotion, but a memory of emotion. It’s a feeling that comes from those forbidden files in his CPU, a silent conviction: _Soundwave is not an enemy. Soundwave is loyal._

_Soundwave can be trusted._

And Galvatron succumbs to that feeling, so different from his usual turmoil, so soothing and calm. Galvatron cannot harm Soundwave – in this regard, at least, the Other One still holds power over him. He wants to be angry at the Other One – it is his emotion Galvatron’s feeling – but the Other One never interferes with Galvatron’s mind directly.

The Other One is dead.

Galvatron grows to like being near Soundwave. Fear and loathing release their grip on him, and it makes him feel pacified, almost… normal.

Cyclonus is left to watch them longingly; for all his faithfulness, Cyclonus doesn’t get the privilege of being the calming presence in his Lord’s life. The Other One never knew Cyclonus, after all.

Another person who causes the same flood of not-his emotions is Starscream, but with Starscream it’s easier: there are anger and lust for vengeance, and these things Galvatron understands all too well.

When Optimus Prime comes back from the dead, everything changes.

Galvatron’s spark flares when the Prime appears before him, and the Other One stirs inside him. There is a rush of excitement, joyful anticipation and outright _demand_ that Galvatron performed at the top level, showed all his might and capabilities, showed the Prime just _who_ was his greatest obstacle, his greatest rival…

Galvatron wants to look good for Optimus Prime, and only later does he begin to comprehend that something is different. They are teaming up against the Quintessons; they talk instead of shouting, they work together like well-greased and well-adjusted gears, and Galvatron’s spark pulses in content, because for some inexplicable reason he… trusts. Trusts Optimus to respect him. Trusts Optimus to be the adversary Galvatron deserves.

Galvatron shakes Optimus’s hand and lets him go without a fight after their mission is done.

He feels… sane.

***

It is strange, to be walking the land of the living again. At first, when Optimus had only just woken up, everything seemed familiar and simple: there was a crisis to solve, lives to save, and acting under the pressure against impossible odds is what Optimus Prime does best. This is what he was created for.

Falling back into routine, however, turned out to be a much bigger challenge.

It is a different world he woke up in: a world of Autobot supremacy. The Decepticons are still there, but they are weakened and reduced to what basically is guerilla warfare. The Quintesson threat looms on the horizon.

Optimus is not the only leader of the Autobots.

Rodimus was happy to give the commanding position back to him. Optimus’s spark constricts painfully when he sees how detached and depressed the title of Prime made this once cheerful and energetic young mech. Optimus doesn’t know why the Matrix chose Hot Rod; perhaps he had potential to become a great Prime, but if it meant he had to lose everything that made Hot Rod happy in the process… Optimus would agree to spare him this fate.

But the Matrix is empty, and neither Optimus, nor Rodimus are true Primes anymore.

They are still struggling to segregate their duties. The Autobots consider Optimus their leader, but the other peoples of the Galaxy – those Rodimus interacted with – are used to seeing him as the ruler of Cybertron. Nobody is sure who answers to whom, including Optimus and Rodimus themselves. Optimus does his best to help, but it appears that death experience can seriously alter a mech.

Optimus is loved and respected, yet he feels out of place. Life went on without him, his Autobots learned to go on without him – and after he was suddenly thrown back into material world, it becomes clear that he isn’t really needed. He is the wise advisor, the sage and the hero – but life moves forward, and Optimus doesn’t move with it. His closest friends are dead, and Optimus is alone – an aberration, a specter that belongs to the past but is stuck in the present, solitary and isolated. He watches and smiles and offers assistance when asked, but foreign numbness nests in his spark.

At least Megatron is still around. Optimus can’t help but chuckle at this idea; who would’ve thought he’d ever be glad to know Megatron is fine and kicking. But the Decepticon leader seems like the only constant in his life: he was there before Optimus Prime was born out of the remains of Orion Pax, and he is here after Optimus’s death and rebirth. He got himself a new name and a new body, all purple and made by Unicron himself, but that is a novelty Optimus could get used to.

Somehow the thought of a fight with Megatron is what’s still able to ignite the fading fire in the embers of Optimus’s spark.

It is Rodimus who notices it first, and it is Rodimus who proposes a solution.

“You should get some action, Optimus,” he says, smiling softly – such an alien expression for Hot Rod, whose grins used to be wide and radiant, “stretch your legs, so to speak. Go on a mission, punch some Cons. That’ll get your mind away from whatever is troubling it.”

Optimus agrees without arguing.

***

It was like time turned backwards – Optimus locked in combat with Meg– Galvatron, battle diminished into deranged wrestling on the ground, long-distance weapons forgotten in favor of fists and claws and kicks. They roll in the bluish dust of some barren world, covered in scratches and each other’s paint, growling and spitting insults, and it’s everything Optimus wanted. Energon races through his fuel lines, and he feels alive for the first time since his rebirth. This is what he was created for: to fight Megatron. The Autobot leader who could stand against the Decepticon lord and prevail.

In the end, no matter what Optimus dreams of or wishes for, he was created to wage war.

But this is also new as it is familiar: Megatron’s frame is different, and the weak spots and vulnerable seams that Optimus knew so well are gone, and Optimus has to learn again. His fingers slide down the smooth thigh as he tries to claw at the edge of a pelvic plate; the automatic urge to headbutt his foe has to be suppressed, for Galvatron bears a three-horned crown where Megatron’s plain helmet once was. The only fancy thing Megatron allowed himself was the silvery white color of his armor; Galvatron is all plump curves and elegant lines, the perfect merge of mech’s and femme’s forms. Even his voice sounds alien to Optimus’s audial – shrill and fluid with emotion, so unlike the hoarse rasp that Megatron used to have.

Something about all of this is off, but Optimus has ho time to mull over it when Galvatron roars and activate his thrusters.

If he wished to get rid of Optimus that way, he underestimated his old enemy. Optimus’s grip never weakens despite the planet’s surface being further and further below. All he can think about is trying to clench his hands around Galvatron’s thick neck, to cause at least some dizziness, and then…

“I will ram your head into the ground!” Galvatron shrieks, and this is what he truly intends to do: his flight only picks up speed as they plummet down, and the surface begins nearing, faster and faster.

But in the very last moment Optimus manages to push his fingers into a vulnerable cable; Galvatron falters – and it’s enough for Optimus to change their positions. They slam into the ground together, neither triumphant over the other, and for a klik all Optimus can feel is blinding pain.

His systems reboot pretty quickly after the impact – this is not the worst beating he got during the course of war – but when Optimus tries to stand, his legs betray him. He manages to prop himself against the slope of the crater he and Galvatron made (Optimus thanks Vector Sigma for the fact that their crash is far from the main battlefield, so nobody else is harmed). His blurry vision catches the sight of a purple figure moving sluggishly next to him.

Optimus’s optical sensors calibrate in the next two kliks, and finally he is able to see Galvatron clearly. The warlord doesn’t look much better: he stands on all fours, shaking his head; his cannon is gone, and one of the crown-horns is broken.

Optimus can’t help but chuckle.

“I did a number on you, didn’t I?” It feels so good to be back. “Almost like that time when I pushed you into explosion.” He groans as he tries to move, the cracks in his armor aching. “And you… ugh. Got me well too, as always. Remember how you threw me off the Sherman Dam? Eh, Megatron?”

The Decepticon flinches when he begins speaking, but Optimus doesn’t pay much attention to it. When he finishes, though, the warlord is _shaking_ , and a low, feral growl is starting deep in his chest, rattling his entire frame.

“Shut up!” he breaths, the growl finally reaching his vocoder, and when he raises his head, he is roaring: “Shut up! _Shut up!_ Don’t call me by that name – don’t _ever_ speak that name! I don’t want those memories! I don’t care for what you’ve done with him!”

Optimus blinks, confused.

“Um, fine. Galvatron, sure, I’ll call you that if you wish so. I’m just not used to that new name of yours,” he tries to explain, tries to calm the distressed warlord down, but his spark swirls uncomfortably. Something is not right.

“I am not him!” Galvatron’s optics flash white.

Optimus backs off, and that sinking feeling in his gut grows stronger.

“But I was told… Unicron rebuilt you…”

“No! He changed me!” Galvatron finally manages to rise to his knees, and his fists must be clenched so hard it’s painful. “He took an injured frame and a waning spark, twisted them and created me out of them. He left me the memories, but everything else he gave me anew. I am Galvatron, the one and only Lord of the Decepticons!” His voice raises to the proud heights, but then shatters in a broken, wrathful screech: _“Megatron is dead!”_

Optimus reels. The news of Megatron’s death shouldn’t upset him, not after those long years of war and desolation brought by Megatron’s hands. Optimus was prepared to kill the warlord during their last encounter, he was prepared to go through with it, and, apparently, he succeeded… His chest shouldn’t hurt like this.

He looks at Galvatron again, and now he sees it – every difference, every little alteration: rounder face, wider cheeks, softer shape of optics – Megatron’s were slanted, predatory – and his spark pulses, aches, as the terrible sense of _loneliness_ creeps into it, clutching it with an icy grip.

“You… have his memories?” he manages to utter.

“Yes,” Galvatron barks. “And you invoke them. They invade me. His memories of you, his feelings towards you. They clear my head. I hate it.”

A new, brutal twist of his spark.

“Feelings..?”

Galvatron’s optics dim, staring into distance.

“Anger. Frustration. Exhilaration. Obsession. Admiration.”

He doesn’t say the word Optimus fears, but what he says is enough. Optimus knows those emotions all too well, for he feels them too.

Without thinking, he reaches out and touches Galvatron’s cheek. He needs to touch this frame – it has unfamiliar lines and colors, but it’s the same metal Optimus bent and dented so many times; it’s warm under his fingertips, heated with the same inner fire.

Galvatron doesn’t recoil, although his optics flash, wild and shaken. Optimus retracts his facemask. He has never done it before Megatron, he has never allowed himself to even think of this. Now he does think – of all the chances lost, of the irony of them killing each other and coming back – but in the end only Optimus came back right. He shouldn’t do it, he shouldn’t pour his troubles onto this mech who is barely a year old, whom everybody calls insane and an abomination of the Chaos Bringer, who has just stated that he hates all of this… But Galvatron doesn’t recoil.

“Don’t you dare call me by his name,” he mutters.

“I won’t,” Optimus promises. “Galvatron.”

He yelps in surprise when the Decepticon grabs the back of his head and pulls him into a savage kiss.

***

This is the only way Galvatron knows how to kiss – with biting and snarling, a clash of teeth rather than a caress. But Cyclonus welcomes it all the same, and Optimus does too. He moans into his mouth, and Galvatron answers him with a growl, pushing the Prime down, demanding submission.

The Othe– Megatron is blissfully silent in his mind. He can’t truly react to what happens in the real world – he’s dead – so he only offers memories and emotions he was used to associate with certain situations. But this – this is something he had never done, this is something new, so far away from the usual “Optimus feel”, that he has nothing to contribute. And Galvatron roars in victory, never breaking the brutal liplock. He presses himself into Optimus’s frame and maps it with his hands, groping and fondling, for this is something of his own. This is his conquest; he has Optimus in a way Megatron never did, he took Optimus from Megatron and made the Prime his own.

Optimus arches under him, his strength almost enough to throw Galvatron off. Perhaps if he really meant it he would’ve succeeded, and the warlord purrs, grinding against the red and blue body even harder. He relishes power, and Optimus _is_ a powerful enemy – the one worthy to be the partner of the Lord of the Decepticons. Galvatron’s fingers scrape against the glass of the windshield, leaving scratches, and he finally lets go of Optimus’s puffy and bleeding lips to nip at his neck cables. He wants to mark this frame, to possess it and make it his, to rule it and ride it, and they will crush their enemies, Galvatron controlling the galaxy and Optimus standing by his side, keeping him sane, keeping him right…

Some part of him realizes that it’s just an impossible dream, as impossible as Optimus’s dreams of peace that Megatron remembers him sharing, but for now Galvatron dives into that fantasy and believes it to be real.

And those heavy hands squeezing the backs of his thighs and aft add on to his fantasy. Optimus’s touch is firm, but it never goes where Galvatron wants it – to his interface panel. The Prime is a glitchin’ tease, and after raising his head to see his face, Galvatron gets a proof of it: a slag-eating grin on Optimus’s marked lips.

Galvatron snarls and sits up, straddling the Autobot’s thighs.

“Open up, Prime,” he says, tapping at the blue panel, and licks his bared fangs. He can already imagine what the Prime’s spike looks like: long and thick and deliciously curved, covered with ridges and bumps that will make his valve weep…

Optimus obeys, and all structured thoughts vaporize from Galvatron’s CPU. He just sits here with his jaw slack, staring at the bared interface array.

Interface array that has no spike housing.

There is a valve there – a very pretty-looking valve, already swollen and glistening with lubricant, blue biolights glowing invitingly – but nothing above it.

Galvatron raises his optics at Optimus’s face, and the Prime shrugs sheepishly.

“What can I say,” he coughs. “A Prime wields too much power. He isn’t supposed to take advantage of it by exerting dominance over any of his people.”

Galvatron continues to stare at him, so Optimus begins squirming – and then the transfixion is finally broken. Galvatron throws back his head and begins laughing. He laughs, and laughs, until Optimus’s bewilderment turns into embarrassment and then into indignation.

“You know what? If you find it that funny I can always leave.” He begins crawling from under Galvatron, but the warlord stills him with his hands on the Prime’s chest, the last fits of laughter reverberating in his chest.

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just…” He moves back a little, angles his hips and retracts his own interface panel.

Baring his valve – and only the valve.

Optimus’s optics grow comically wide as he gasps and lifts his hand – but doesn’t dare to touch.

“I was created to be the herald of Unicron,” Galvatron explains in reply to the flabbergasted gaze. “I was supposed to be kept… humble.”

“Oh,” Optimus breathes out and is silent for a while. He does, however, gather up courage to place his hand on the presented array, stroking the purple valve lips gently. Galvatron shudders at the caress, it being too soft and light when compared to what he usually gets. If Cyclonus dared to touch him this way, Galvatron would’ve already beaten him into pulp for disrespect; mighty Galvatron doesn’t need to be treated like he was made of glass! But with Optimus… Somehow it isn’t offensive.

“If it’s any consolation at all,” Galvatron says, “Megatron had an impressive spike. He’d have been glad to pound you through the ground.”

Optimus chuckles, but it comes out bitter.

“It’s a little too late for that.”

They both remain silent for a klik more, but then Galvatron shifts in his seat on the Prime’s legs. He was never prone to long contemplations, and Optimus didn't cease playing with his valve, finger sliding up and down the slit and thumb rubbing the anterior node with feather-like touches.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Galvatron looks down at their moist equipment. “Neither of us can spike the other…”

Optimus locks optics with him, and this time his smile is mischievous.

“Oh, I have quite a few ideas.” He lies back, hands coming to rest on Galvatron’s hips, and pulls him closer to his face. “C’mere.”

Galvatron allows the Prime to arrange him, since he’s kind of curious about those “ideas”. With Cyclonus it has always been simple: spike goes in valve, overload happens. Cyclonus had no memories of his previous life to rely upon when it came to interface, and Galvatron didn’t want to rummage through Megatron’s interface-related memories, but if Prime had some suggestions regarding valves, Galvatron was ready to listen. Learning from someone with the same problem wasn’t as shameful as learning from someone who did have a spike (so yeah, shut up, Megatron).

Optimus proceeds to pull him until Galvatron is seated right over the Prime’s face, and the warlord is prepared to ask about the reason for such a position when a hot, wet mouth descends on his valve, and all words are mashed into one incoherent cry that escapes Galvatron’s vocalizer. Optimus hums in approval, and an agile glossa joins his lips, pushing past the valve’s folds into the hot passage.

Galvatron howls and hunches his back, fingers digging into the rock. His powerful thighs tremble, threatening to crush Optimus’s head between them, but the Prime wraps his arms around his legs, holding them in place, and continues his assault. Galvatron is left to writhe in his grasp, feeling every movement of that glossa – how it delves inside him, fucking him, flicking against the sensitive nodes at the rim, and then slides up to swirl around the anterior node, its soft caresses nothing like the rough thrusts and pinches Galvatron prefers, but just as good, just as torturous. The slurping sounds coming from below are positively obscene, as is the delighted purr of Optimus’s engine, and when the Prime stop for a moment to puff hot air at the moist components, Galvatron can take it no more.

“Stop… Stop!” He breathes out, trying to suppress his shivering. “I want… I want to do it too.” It’s unfair that he’s falling apart under Prime’s ministrations and the Prime does not; Galvatron wants to have _him_ shuddering and begging.

“Alright.” Galvatron can hear the smile in the Prime’s voice as he gives the warlord’s valve one last lick and then loosens his grip on his legs. “Turn around and lie on me, this way we’ll be able to pleasure each other.”

This seems like a good tactical decision, and Galvatron obliges. Now he has Optimus’s valve in front of his face, all wet and leaking. Galvatron touches it with his fingers first – just to explore, to see if it functions the same way as his own – and the frantic ripple of Optimus’s EM field and the bucking of his hips tell Galvatron that it does. He doesn’t waste time anymore and goes down on his prize.

From this angle it’s easier to concentrate his glossa’s work on the swollen anterior node, so Galvatron does just that, every muffled cry and every twitch of a white thigh encouraging him. He lets his fingers roam over the rim of the Prime’s valve, listening to his vents’ hitching; when the first finger ventures inside Optimus pushes his glossa against the inner wall of Galvatron’s own valve, lost in ecstasy, and this is the last cue Galvatron needs. He give it his all, sucking at the pulsing node and working two, then three fingers into the sopping valve, drinking in the cries and sighs coming from behind, reveling in every time he manages to break the rhythm of Optimus’s skilled movements. Galvatron hurries up, wishing to be the first to drive his partner to overload… and stops promptly.

Optimus lets out a sound that is most certainly a whine, but it’s not the time to celebrate this small victory. Galvatron tears his valve away from Prime’s wondrous mouth; he has a more urgent thing on his mind.

“No,” he utters, his voice hoarse and thick with arousal. “I want to see you. I want to know you’re mine.” He straddles Optimus’s hips, pinning his hands to the rocky ground. “You must know a way. Show me how.”

Their interface arrays are so close, and they are sparking where their charges collide, EM fields licking at each other. If only one of them had a spike… Galvatron groans, grinding against Optimus, causing more sparks to fly and more lines of each other’s paint litter their pelvic plates.

Optimus rubs his side soothingly and smiles, the soft curve of his lips turned lewd due to the sheer amount of valve lubricant covering his faceplate.

“There are many ways,” he answers and spreads his legs. “Here, imagine if you wanted to spike me…”

Galvatron gets between Optimus’s welcoming thighs, still confused, but Optimus’s steady hands guide his hips down, and when their slick valves touch, Galvatron gets it. He begins moving, short, irregular thrusts sending electric jolts through their arrays when their anterior nodes get rubbed, but then he catches the rhythm, and soon Optimus has his legs wrapped around Galvatron’s middle, venting hard and moaning, and he looks so wonderful like this – hot and debauched and covered in scratches and lubricants, mouth open and optics darkened to deep cobalt. Galvatron roars, words failing him, and rides Optimus harder, grabbing his aft and lifting it, fingers digging into the seams and denting thick armored metal. Prime never whimpers or complains – no, he bucks his hips instead, meeting Galvatron’s unbridled charge, as strong and indomitable as Galvatron himself, as beautiful as the most vicious thunderstorm.

At some moment Optimus shuts his optics and throws his head back, moaning, but it makes Galvatron hiss and hike his Prime’s hips even higher.

“No!” he bellows, and Optimus’s attention is back on him. “Look at me! I want you to see me!” And suddenly the friction they have is not enough, Galvatron needs more, craves more… He throws one of his legs over one of Optimus’s, straddling his white thigh, and presses his own thigh to Prime’s wet and puffy valve. Their plating is radiating heat, but compared to the blazing furnaces of their arrays it feels cool, and Optimus shudders – but raises his thigh in understanding, grinding it against Galvatron’s crotch.

They gasp in unison – and in the next second they are moving again, riding each other roughly, chasing overloads with no care for caution or gentleness. Galvatron leans over Optimus, covering him with his body, trying to touch as much as it’s possible with the angles of their armor. Optimus is his, is with him, opening for him – and it is Galvatron’s name that falls from well-bitten lips as their overloads course through them, their fields overlapping and the air around them crackling with charge.

But when the residue of the overload fades and Galvatron lifts his head from where it was nicely tucked under Optimus’s chin, the Prime’s field around him feels cold. And in those blue optics Galvatron sees sadness. They look at Galvatron, but are aimed inward.

“Thank you,” Optimus whispers, brushing his cheek gently, and Galvatron thinks he can hear what Optimus doesn’t say: _but this was the only time._ That regret, that loneliness Galvatron spotted earlier are back, and the fire that was burning in Prime just recently is gone. All that’s left are pale embers glowing beneath the ashes.

With a roar that rings disgustingly helpless Galvatron wrings himself out of the embrace, closes his interface panel and jumps to his feet. He wants to punch Optimus, to smash his head against the sharp rocks… but he’s too sane for that.

“Curse you,” he spits, and he isn’t sure whom he is cursing. Without any further talk, he activates his thrusters and flies off, away from that crater, away from Optimus and his widened, sorrowful optics. Rage boils in Galvatron’s chest, confined for now, but he knows that by the time he will reach his troops his mind will be drowning in its red haze. Galvatron will shoot some incompetent dimwits, snap at poor, faithful Cyclonus… and maybe, at least for a while, he’ll forget.

Megatron is dead, but Optimus Prime doesn’t belong to Galvatron.


End file.
